


Noch Einmal

by masamune11



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Heavy Theory, Multiverse, Nasuverse Related, Non-Canonical Character Death, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are legends of tomorrow—the horrors walking within society, the heroes keeping order, and the benevolent figures ruling over commoners—who earned their place inside Throne of Heroes. This is their story.</p><hr/><p>(In which most [K] characters are summoned as servants by Fate characters. [K] happens in the distant future of FSN, but they're still in *somewhat* same world. There are some plot-building related chapters as well, so the fic does not necessarily only center on [K] casts).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wir hatten keine Wahl [Reisi]

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Happily Ever After - Not](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730279) by [ruby_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruby_dream/pseuds/ruby_dream). 



> I need to get this out of my system before I _do something potentially stupid_ , so there you go.
> 
> Crossposted from my Tumblr, as usual.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I see,” Shiro’s voice turned strained at his reply, “Will you give up?”
> 
> He remembered the sound of Mikoto’s heart fading to silence and knew that there was never a choice in the first place. He would have to get through with this arrangement again and again, until he could have his wish granted—until he could save Mikoto from that fate. “No,” he gasped, the pain of his mortal body eventually caught up to him, “No, I won’t.“
> 
> * * *
> 
>  _ **Wir hatten keine Wahl**_ \- we had no choice.

It all started, as far as the man knew, when that forsaken slab of stone  _groaned._

He remembered of drifting in-betwixt of consciousness when he felt the pull of power—a  _summon_  that he could not refuse. It was as though the Dresden Slate was whisking away his power, pulling through it like a master pulling the string of a marionette. He remembered how he could not resist nor deny such force and let himself being whisked away… from his own pool of blood that started forming around his body, from the shadow of his hanging sword of damocles that threatened to fall down on him,  _from that deep regret as a result of a death by his hand_.

(They said he was just a copy of the real person—a copy of Reisi Munakata, the second Blue King. Ergo, what he remembered never really happened to him; it was just a memory which he never experienced but conveniently shared by his original. The man resented that thoughts only because his heart was hurting. Surely such strong feeling that he experienced could never be a lie.)

He absent-mindedly stroked the grip of his sabre, while his mind contemplated on  _his broken ribs as his sword pierced through his heart and the sound of it slowly dissipating into silence._  Reisi eventually closed his eyes and breathed out slowly as he chased away those memories again. He still had to handle things around. When he reopened his eyes, however, his vision was met with Emiya’s darker ones—eyes that glinted darkly whenever he realised that their enemy was close.

It took them another three seconds to move away, with his master in tow, before someone crashed the ground where they previously were standing on. It took him another two seconds to notice his enemy, and not more than another second to let out a worn-out smile. With red hair dancing wildly like fire and glazed amber eyes lacking sanity,  _Berserker_  growled under his breathas he located his enemy.

From the edge of his vision, he saw his master sparing a sympathetic frown, “I am sorry that it turns out like this.“

Saber only gestured him to back away, part of him wondering how much had the man seen of his memories that evoked such broken man to evoke apologies. Did Emiya see his life, so far away in the future, when his power failed him? Did he see Mikoto Suoh’s death at his hand and the agony which it brought him?

(Did it even matter? In the end, the only reason why he answered his master’s calling was to have his one wish granted: to save this man, who stood before him like a rabid animal hunting his prey; this man, who died by his hand, had been reforged in fire, and summoned into this world with the worst possible form.)

“Saber,  _battou_ ,” he said and raised his mana pressure to counter Berserker’s one. He could still feel his throat tightening, the reality of them reenacting a scene from the past slowly dawning on his psyche; they would fight, and unlike what happened back then, one of them would not die because the other let him. This would not be a quick fight, not like how they did it back in their past lives, but at least he would make sure that Suoh’s death be quick and painless. So Saber prepared with his kata and dashed at his friend, with intention to kill.

(If he needed to kill him again in order to finally save him, then so be it.)

* * *

He opened his eyes and saw the sky… and the heart-shaped face full of melancholy belonging to Yashiro Isana. The shadow of his Sword of Damocles hanged dangerously, its flickering azure bead a grave promise that everything would end in destruction. Despite all that, the Silver King offered him a comforting smile, believing as if there would be a way to stop this—all of this madness that eventually led to this conclusion.

“Did you dream well, Munakata-san?” the man asked softly, though he could not mistaken a slight trace of hope in his voice. Reisi closed his eyes as the images of their fight assaulted his mind. He remembered clashing with Mikoto as both of them enacted the scene of ten years back. But instead of dying on his hand, the Red King— _Berserker_ —went out in a literal blaze, bringing Reisi along the ride as well.

He lost, then, and gained nothing. He failed to obtain the grail and was sent back to the future  _where his Sword of Damocles was already crumbling_ , his city being constantly in danger ofdestruction because of his deteriorating mental state. So Reisi shook his head, earning him a sad gaze from the other king.

“I see,” Shiro’s voice turned strained at his reply, “Will you give up?”

He remembered the sound of Mikoto’s heart fading to silence and knew that there was never a choice in the first place. He would have to get through with this arrangement again and again, until he could have his wish granted—until he could save Mikoto from that fate. “No,” he gasped, the pain of his mortal body eventually caught up to him, “No, I won’t.“

(The only way he could fix this mess was to prevent what happened in the past—to prevent the death of Mikoto Suoh so that series of events that let them to  _this_ intersection of time can be avoided.)

He saw sympathy in those silver orbs as Shiro glowed with power, though not so much that he evoked his own Sword of Damocles. He closed his eyes for a moment, his eyes changed to neon-blue when he eventually opened it again for the fallen Blue King.

“Then we accept your renewed vow, Munakata Reisi, the Third Blue King of Dresden Slate,” Shiro spoke in words that were not his own—a voice that was backed up by forces of the world… forces that had hold upon Dresden Slate itself, “you may take your time to meet the end of our deal… and go.”

Reisi closed his eyes, the Dresden Slate groaning at the back of his mind as he descended back into unconsciousness. He heard murmurs of his own, of his friends, of his best friend—but his vow rang louder than any of them: “ _I will do everything in my power to prevent_   **it** _. If I have to be dog of the World to make this happen, then so be it._ "

* * *

He looked at him,  _his supposed master_ , and wondered if the Grail had a sick sense of humor.

His master’s hair was red while his eyes brown. While the similarity stopped only at his hair, the servant almost wanted to reach out and call  _that name_. Then he noticed fright in his eyes, and Reisi Munakata realised that  _this was not Mikoto Suoh._

(Even if he was, would it matter?)

"I ask of you, are you my master?”

(What matters was saving Mikoto—and this master before him was just another means to end, so that he may gain the Grail and have his wish fulfilled.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brownie points for those who notice how Reisi's situation alluded to Arturia in FSN (the old anime one, yesh). He made a pact with the World before his death so that he could save Mikoto; if he becomes a Counter Guardian because of that, then so be it. 
> 
> Also cue Yashiro alluding to being both Bedivere _and_ the World.


	2. Das Lied von Eis und Feuer [Mikoto]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikoto was always the Head, Kusanagi the (silver) Tongue, and Totsuka the Heart of HOMRA. He knew that the news of his death was a prelude to the end, for their Heart was already six feet under, and the rest of them were already falling, marching towards their end.
> 
> No one could survive without a heart, after all.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  ** _Das Lied von Eis und Feuer_** \- the song of ice and fire.
> 
> [N/B: Or in which I like to kill Suoh off. JK. I shatter my feels writing this, okay.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend you to listen to [Price of Freedom by Takeharu Ishimoto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOJ91H4mraU&list=RDMOJ91H4mraU) while reading this piece.
> 
> Enjoy.

Despite all the baggage that he had to bear as a King, despite all the nightmares that he had to endure, _despite all the responsibilities that were thrust upon him when Dresden Slate chose him as the Second Red King_ , Mikoto Suoh would not deny that he was grateful for this power—to some degree. His power was what led him to the family he came to know eventually. Each and every one of them provided and took from each other, creating bonds that defined HOMRA.

They grew on him. This, Mikoto could not dismiss.

There was a time when his circle of friends  only encompassed Totsuka and Kusanagi. Later, when he eventually became the Red King—when everybody stared flocking to him for the sake of power—Mikoto was quite annoyed that he needed to screen, to let in, and then  _throw away those who only desired to take but never give._ Not only that, he remembered being annoyed at Yata's fire antics, at Fushimi's eerie quietness, and even at Anna's constant presence as she wished to be near him wherever he went.

But then there was Totsuka, the heart of their merry little band, weaving bonds between them all, turning that small bar which Kusanagi tried to manage into _home_. Eventually, Yata's admiration did not seem as stifling, Fushimi's smiles appeared more frequently despite its sadistic traces, and Anna's companionship became something that he could not shrug off. HOMRA became something more than just punks gathering to spend their time together; HOMRA became their home.

Then Totsuka got himself killed and everything went to hell.

(Mikoto was always the Head, Kusanagi the (silver) Tongue, and Totsuka the Heart of HOMRA. He knew that the news of his death was a prelude to the end, for their Heart was already six feet under, and the rest of them were already _falling, marching towards their end_.

No one could survive without a heart, after all.)

Mikoto remembered how the flame coursed through his being frantically upon the news of his death. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the sound of metal cracking under pressure—a clock ticking silently to remind him of his mortality. But Mikoto ignored it, his rage overflowing what little common sense he had then.

All he could think was to hunt the perpetrator—and he shall find his prey.

* * *

He had never expected to have his life ended by the hand of another king. Yet, such thought came from the him before their heart died. He had changed, for better or worse, and Mikoto had never been so glad that there was no hesitation in those violet eyes as he did his job.

(There were guilt, anger, and _sadness_  glinting behind those clear eyes. He was asking the impossible out of this man, and Mikoto wondered if he would be forgiven in his next life should they meet again.

He was breaking Reisi with this one selfish request, after all. Even if he was strong, no one could really escape the guilt of killing another kindred spirit. Yet better this option than the death of countless innocent lives; better to pick the lesser evil, even if it meant breaking his _friend._ )

Thus, when that blade cleanly cut through his heart, Mikoto did not dare to look at him, nor did the other man. As his strength slipped away, his hands grasping weakly upon Reisi’s stilled,  _trembling,_ form, the former Red King whispered softly—

“ _Thank you,_ "

—before everything faded to black.

* * *

All he could see was _red_. All he could feel was _heat_. All he could sense was _his prey before him, his master’s order seeping beneath his skin and making him crazy, and flashes of blue that_ reminded him of things that shouldn’t be important. All he needed to do was obey his master’s wishes, after all; if Kariya wished for this man, this blue servant, to drop dead, then he would fight.

His name did not matter. All that mattered was that he was the Red King, and nothing shall be standing when he was done with his job—not even the blue servant who kept dodging the blows of his fire projectiles with all his might. And so, amidst the rubbles of their surroundings, he kept on going, his hand kept on burning as he threw more fireballs, more firewalls, more blasts of _red_ that _she_ loved— 

[ _Mikoto’s red is the most beautiful._  ]  
[ _That’s awesome, Mikoto-san!_  ]

—which the blue servant dodged again and _again_. Only then he realised that the servant had closed in to him, his sword ready to sever his head from his body. Before the blade could reach, he called out his fire to be the shield that would protect him.

[ _—you have became a gun that protected what needed to be protected._ ]  
[ _Your powers are not meant for destruction._ ]

There was a resounding clang—a clash between two powers, antithesis to each other—throughout the night. His enemy was standing before him, his sword was still drawn up, clashing with the red barrier that he emitted—a barrier not so formidable but still managed to hold his attacker, nonetheless.

His power seethed beneath his skin, trying to tear apart his given vessel— _trying to be free_. He had exhausted too much power after all; if he wanted to bring this person down, then _Berserker_ must give his life to do so. So he raged, his power burning to his limit, but that enemy of his remained steady at his place. So the Berserker made a mad dash at the other servant (the latter appearing distraught at his bold move), before grabbing his shoulders and jumped away. Everything was burning in his eyes, and Berserker screamed.

(He was dead all over again, with  _his_ blade stuck on his chest. Every part of his being hurt, and the only thing that held him from screaming as he felt his life slipping away was the _hurt_. Now he hurt, and his vessel was capable enough for him to scream.) 

There was a cold hand on his cheek, caressing softly as if the owner wanted to gain his attention subtly. Berserker looked at his enemy and saw this: a pair of regretful eyes, a grief-stricken face—

“Forgive me."

—and then a sword plunged into his chest.

In that single moment, the world suddenly became littered with colour—the violet of Reisi’s eyes, the blue of his uniform, the dark of his hair, and the red of his frantic fire. The more he thought about it, the more his mind could function, as if his Mad Enhancement was being lifted slowly from his psyche. Part of him wondered if it was Reisi’s Noble Phantasm at work—

—but did all of this matter? _They were dying._

Berserker—no, _Mikoto Suoh_ —sucked a deep breath and chuckled, throwing his almost useless body to the other’s brace mid-air. All he could feel was fire, and he half-wondered is this was his punishment for breaking this man again. Maybe he was destined to watch the Blue King chipping his self in this act.

“No, Reisi. _Forgive me._ "

He could feel Reisi’s cold hands reaching out to keep him steady, like he did when he  _died in his arms_. The coldness that the his arms offered staved the fire away, and Mikoto found himself drawing comfort to that power.  Distantly, he heard the echoes of his friends voice—another comfort that he drew on—as they fell, burned, and froze.

_All he could see was red._

[ _I’m sorry… for making you do all the dirty work._ ]  
[ _Please forgive me—_ ]


	3. Das Büdnis der Könige [Yashiro]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then,” Yashiro Isana took another breath, “by mutual agreement between the First, Third, and Fourth King, should Reishi Munakata, the Second Blue King, fail to meet the Slate’s demand and, in turn, lose control of his power as a King, I, Yashiro Isana, the First Silver King, and Anna Kushina, the Third Red King, will do everything in our power to terminate his fate. Should either or both of us are to forfeit our lives in the pursuit of this agreement, we agree that there will be no bad blood between our clan, that our clansmen will not raise their will to pursue vengeance in our names, just like how the Blue clansmen will not vow vengeance upon Silver and or Red in their King’s name. They who goes against this vow shall face the judgment of the World. Let this be our covenant."
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Das Büdnis der Könige** \- covenant of kings.
> 
> [N/B: AKA in which I should have chosen shorter summary.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended song to listen: [Sprinter by Kalafina (cover by Yuuka Koudoki ft. Marasong)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWAoeVhq304).
> 
> Unbeta'ed. Please enjoy :")

He was skilled at running away; this fact, Adolf K. Weismann could not deny.

It was in his nature to deflect things whenever things did not go his way, be it in an argument or even in a fight (fights were the last things on his priority list, truly). Dodging questions, distracting other people, throwing red herring—one way or another, Weismann was light on his feet and wit. Perhaps the only persons who could corner him was his Claudia and, later on, Daikaku.

It was due to that skill as well that he survived among war-mongering executives in the army with his idealistic belief.

(He wanted to laugh at the mere idea that _he survived the war_. The guilt of not having saved his sister might as well turned him to a deadman walking. He had no home to return to, no nation to reclaim him—not when he supported the false side after the war—no one to look for saved for the lieutenant. Even then, he was too tired from _the pain, from swords and kings, from the sweet freedom and happiness that quickly turned into his personal hell._ In the end, all he could do was detach his self from the world, to save himself from another hurt—to keep on running and never look back.)

Years after, the Silver King would eventually realise that the years he spent on running costed the happiness of other people undeserving of such tragedy. His lack of responsibilities led to the sufferings of those tied to his findings, and their blood forever tainting the ledger of his moral consciousness. Among those who died were Mikoto Suoh, the previous Red King whose death was brought swiftly by the hand of the Blue King (the details were vague; no one was there to witness the deed, but Yashiro Isana knew the haunting look that shadowed Reishi Munakata’s eyes, so similarly to that of soldiers going home from war). Already his harbringer was on the same path to destruction—another soon-to-be victim of his inaction.

There was no lieutenant to sort out this mess ( _the mess he had started years ago, the mess that he dumped to his beloved friend_ , _the mess that led to the end of his life_ ). Yashiro Isana decided to act.

* * *

“Shiro, where can I put this?”

Silver-haired head perked at the swordsman, and Shiro only gestured said man to put what he's been holding—a stack of books to tall for any ordinary people to bring with, but this man was _Kuroh_ , and silver clansmen can always utilise their power to make things lighter—next to research papers on his desk. The dark-haired man nodded and followed his direction, dropping said materials in the appointed place with a soft thud. Moments after, the white-haired man stopped writing, his eyes wandered from the books that Kuroh had delivered for him, and then to the papers he had written on. It seemed that his thoughtful look was apparent enough for the other man, because Kuroh quickly scooted over to check his well-being.

“Did something happen?” he asked, and Shiro noticed how his black eyes glinting with worry of a vassal to his King—a worry that was totally misplaced because _he was just a vassal of the Silver Clan, a knight serving under the King_ _who knew nothing of the life that Adolf had to endure with or without this power_. Kuroh will never understand the shrewd power of Dresden Slate, interchanging options and calculations with a being greater than any being confined within space-time limitation, unless he became a King himself.

He cannot understand that nothing _and_ everything shifted—happened—within a definite timespan… and Shiro knew.

Shiro smiled, lacing his next words with forgiveness (because Kuroh did not know how callous his question was, and such curious worry was to be expected), “It’s alright. Everything is… better, even. I believe I have found a solution to the Blue King’s dilemma."

Onyx eyes perked with interest, while two hands neatly crossed each other, “that is great,” but Kuroh’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, knowing enough from the past that good news usually came with unacceptable risks. If anything, he had to prevent his King from taking stupid ones, “what are you going to do?"

The gears of the world whirled beneath the case of Dresden Slate, and Shiro knew, in that moment, he was going to give more than he take. “I am going to make a deal with _the World_."

* * *

“Whatever you do, Kuroh, Neko, you will not stop us. Your King demands you this."

He looked at the both of them trying to contain themselves from actually diving at their King. Given what he had told them prior the meeting between the Kings, Shiro could only sympathise… and not only to his clansmen, but also to both of the other King’s trusted vassals. He noticed how Izumo Kusanagi and Seri Awashima shifting uncomfortably on their spot when their Kings agreed to the plan that Shiro had informed, and how Misaki Yata and Saruhiko Fushimi was ready to jump at each other’s throat—the former trying to make his point clear that he would never accept the plan, while the latter most likely to defend himself—as the Red King nodded in agreement, even though reluctance painted her young delicate face as clear as a day.

“Then,” Yashiro Isana took another breath, “by mutual agreement between the First, Third, and Fourth King, should Reishi Munakata, the Second Blue King, fail to meet the Slate’s demand and, in turn, lose control of his power as a King, I, Yashiro Isana, the First Silver King, and Anna Kushina, the Third Red King, will do everything in our power to terminate his fate. Should either or both of us are to forfeit our lives in the pursuit of this agreement, we agree that there will be no bad blood between our clan, that our clansmen will not raise their will to pursue vengeance in our names, just like how the Blue clansmen will not vow vengeance upon Silver and or Red in their King’s name. They who goes against this vow shall face the judgment of the World. Let this be our covenant."

“Let this be our covenant,” the other Kings chorussed, and Shiro knew for a fact that any hesitation haunting the red eyes of Anna Kushina was replaced by a sense of duty as deep as the Blue King’s.

He felt as if a binding was placed at the bottom of his heart as the Dresden Slate below acknowledged their agreed vow. As the last of the metaphysical chain that bound their word fell into place, the Silver King closed his eyes. Claudia’s fair image greeted him kindly, offering silent encouragement that ‘e _verything will be carried out as promised’_.

(He could never run away from her, couldn’t he?)

When he opened his eyes, the silver hue was completely replaced by neon blue. Shiro regarded those in the room contemplatively, before finally settling on Reishi Munakata in, “you who bear part of my power, what do you offer me in exchange of your wish? What could you possibly want that you need my support?"

He witnessed those violet eyes hardened with resolve, the owner finally having the will to speak, “I offer you, _Arayashiki_ , my—"

Everything he heard then was reduced to static. ' _Arayashiki_ ' wouldn’t permit him to listen to information that had both strategic and threatening value to its disposition.

* * *

The advantage of being in-tune with the Slate, and ergo, _the World,_ was that he could take a glimpse on truths that happened in the far past, the possibilities in the far future, the fates of people in whether his fate was related to him or not. Now that he became  _its vessel_ , Shiro wondered if this ability was a gift, if at all.

(When he closed his eyes, sometimes he would see Claudia greeting him energetically, Kokujoji trailing behind her stiffly, his lab still in tact; The halcyon days of their lives were put forward to his focus. Other times, he would see a war waged between power-hungry parties, lost lives sacrificed to propel their ambition, swords and shields of warriors clashing in the name of their masters.

When he saw Anna, he saw how she would grow beautiful and wilt to save her clan. It made replying to Anna’s soft greeting even hard, but Shiro always managed.

He never dared to look at the Blue King since their fateful meeting, fearing the things he would see.)

It was his gift that led him quickly to the Blue King’s side, minutes after said King’s loss of control _in the middle of Ashinaka Island, of all places._ The Slate’s pull was hot behind his ears, urging him to _fly faster_ , as if he’s not _fast enough_. His urging was right in its usual smugness, of course, given how he could see red and blue power clashed against each other, the latter easily overpowering the former given the Blue King’s experience.

“Just hold out a little longer, Anna-chan…” he muttered to himself, hoping in some ways that the Slate could somewhat offer them moral support. But the gnawing weight at the back of his mind remained as noisy as it was; apparently, just because he had forged deeper bond with that blasted alien rock did not mean that he could affect it in any manner.

He was not surprised when he landed at the crater where their Blue King ended the previous Red, finding a stoic Reishi Munakata searching for a semblance of control within himself to keep his power from getting out of control. Anna lied unmoving on the far side of the crater, her Sword of Damocles hanging above them—a clear indication that she was just knocked unconscious ( _not dead_ ). Blue aura crackled around them, so angry and desperate, so unlike the Reishi he used to meet.

The man noticed his arrival and turned. Violet eyes looked at him acceptingly.

There were futures that the Slate whispered to him—futures that he did not want to see.

One of those futures happened in that mere second, when Shiro unwillingly pulled Kuroh’s gift blade—a _tanto_ —from his side and launched at the Blue King. Shiro would hear the crackling sound of blue flames clashing against his silver, Reishi’s ribs breaking as the edge of his blade thrusted fully into his frame, and Reishi’s shocked gasp as air was knocked out of his lungs.

An irony at its finest. Mikoto Suoh must be rolling in his grave.

Yashiro closed his eyes, the images of their covenant rearing back without restraint, and sighed.

“Good luck, Munakata-san."

* * *

“ _I offer you, Arayashiki, my fate as the Blue King in exchange of means to prevent the death of Second Red King, Mikoto Suoh. By this term, you will have me in the past, present, and future, as long as you hold your end of bargain_."


	4. Die Herrin von dem Heftigen Löwe [Rin]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rin Tohsaka would never bow to anyone, much less to her own Servant.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Die Herrin von dem Heftige Löwe** : The Mistress of the Fierce Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look who came back from limbo and decided to write on this story again.
> 
> I missed Fate and K, therefore this happens :(

Rin Tohsaka had planned the night of her summoning to be as perfect as possible.

The general plan of the young Tohsaka clan-head was to summon the best servant with versatile skills, high endurance, and similar moral code to hers. Her criteria limited her own choice of servants in favor to Saber, Lancer, or Archer, which were generally the easiest group to manage. She could have included Berserker in her choices, but she refrained to do so; the additional mad enhancement incantation will surely boost her servant’s capability, but she preferred her servant sane. Therefore, she had gone the extra miles to make sure that every part of the summoning is at its finest: from the finest cloth to wrap the catalyst to the perfect time and date of summoning.

Hence, for her to fume outrageously when her catalyst exploded, thus leaving her living room in a state of heavy repairs, was a normal reaction—that, and also the fact that there was someone lying among the rubble who stared at her as if she was the most detestable person in the world.

Well, personally, she had every right to express the same sentiment at that man, given how sloppy he—who dared to refuse giving her a name, or at least his damn class as an extension of servant’s courtesy to their master—was and how irresponsible of him to leave her living room in such a wreck when she had explicitly told him to clean it out. Hell, she still remembered how the blasted servant regarded her with a dismissive smirk, telling her that she was fully responsible for the mess and that he should not be held accountable for the sloppiness of his master. Her blood boiled so thoroughly that she almost wasted her command spells just to make him shut up and grow a decent attitude.

It did not stop her from inspecting the man more closely.

He seemed… ordinary and plain, with the man's clothes being more modern than she expected. That fact in itself should have been enough to make her doubt the power of her summoned servant, and yet Rin could not help but be awed by his mere presence. There was something in his presence—something beyond the smell of cigar and ashes, beyond that black leather jacket, white shirt, and black pants that screamed modernity, beyond that cold lazy gaze—that bid her to be part of a family that was never hers.

She looked back at his cold gaze, more discerning rather than curious, trying to put sense upon his presence here. While the man was a mystery, Rin could feel overflowing mana welling out of the man through every pore of his body, as if he was a bucket with holes, the content inconveniently escaping its container, that would always be filled to the brim. 

What escaped from that bucked reeked of _wrath_  and _fierceness_. A regular person would have bowed out of fear—out of _awe_ —and pledged their loyalty to this man, but Rin had never been a regular person. She was the current head of Tohsaka family, and every Tohsaka possessed stubbornness that was not to be underestimated.

Rin Tohsaka would never bow to anyone, much less to her own _Servant_.

Maybe it was her luck, but the man’s whole countenance slowly straightened up before he rose from his makeshift seat and walked towards the young head of Tohsaka. Rin’s hand was already grasping on what few precious gems she had left inside her pocket from her previous summoning rituals, her mind silently cursing her lack of preparation to respond this kind of situation.

“Your eyes remind me of someone I’ve long forgotten,” he started, to Rin’s surprise. She was expecting ruder remarks on her way or perhaps dismissive gestures that urged her to move aside. Yet there he was, amber eyes glinting with exasperation and melancholy of remembering his past.

“Sorry,” she retorted under her breath. A smug smirk fueled with confidence slowly painted her lips, the command seal adorning her right arm glinted in warning, “but I’ve never met such unruly person like you."

The man was about to growl his reply. Yet when the edge of her command seal was gleaming, he chuckled instead. “Do you really want to waste that precious vow just to shut me up? I’ll offer you a better deal, girl."

She never saw such response coming; of all outcomes she could think of, him giving her a counter-offer was never among them. She frowned, her eyes trained on the red-haired servant as she waited for him to finish his words. Those golden eyes gleamed in amusement, its owner’s back finally retracted to have a better standing pose.  “I will help you in your quest to get that grail, only if you help me find someone."

The whole situation was completely funny when she thought about his deal over and over. The servants summoned into this Holy Grail War was supposed to have all information in the world, them being connected to a part of the Root and all. Searching for someone shouldn’t be too hard of a chore. “Shouldn’t a servant have all the knowlege of the Root? You could have used it to find information about that person and traced his or her presence from there."

His nose seemed to wrinkle under dissatisfaction, and Rin was forced to let her guard up once again. "The Root selectively imparted what needs to be known. Unfortunately, it excludes information about this man.. perhaps because it was not important, or," the red-haired man paused, biting his lips before mumbling, "it would jeopardize the world's disposition."

Rin narrowed her eyes at her supposed servant, weighing this new information. The head of Tohsaka eventually sighed, her hands neatly folded over chest, "that's not really a good offer, is it? After all, I did summon you here to this world, so you are bound by my command. I could invoke an absolute command to have you committed to the war effort and still refuse to help you find this person."

The servant only tilted his head, his eyes suddenly pointed at her with a coldness that stunned her, and let a small smile that reflected not an ounce of fondness. The aura around him suddenly felt so oppressive that the young woman stepped back in reflex, her hand within the pocket of her skirt gripping on her precious jewels tightly.

"I could kill you before you can even start the invocation, girl. Would you prefer that?"

"W-what?!" Rin spluttered because while she was expecting her own servant to be a threat, she had not expected his attitude to shift drastically. All of this, only because of a shift in a topic? "Have you lost your mind? If I die, you won't survive long enough in this world—and there goes your chance to search for that person."

The servant snarled in disgust, realizing that his own proposition would set his plan back. His gait relaxed, though he still looked as if he would pounce at Rin if she were to make a wrong move. "Clever argument, little mage. You have earned your value in my eyes," he drawled, his eyes glinting with displeasure, "for now."

Rin would never admit the shiver that traveled down her spine at such promise, preferring to harden her resolve and steel her mind to focus on this problem. _Play along_ , she thought to herself, _until the war is over, play along_. So the young woman let out a relieved sigh (an act) if only to provide the Servant the allusion of control. She crossed her hands, her mouth twisted into a confident smirk, "and I shall continue to do so if you would only cooperate with me. Despite what you may think of us, those born in Tohsaka know honor. By summoning you here, I am honor-bound to protect your interest, just as you are bound to be my blade."

Any servants without a sliver of heroics in their soul would have laughed at her words. They spoke of truth, albeit bordering on naivety; and yet, whatever response the man would spill to her, Rin would measure it, guessing the identity of the man if he would never disclose his true name. The Servant looked troublesome anyway, but resourceful has always been the enduring quality that lingered in every Tohsaka mages; Rin believed that she could handle this situation and then emerge victoriously.

Defying her expectation, the Servant smirked, whatever displeasure glinting behind those golden eyes being replaced with something akin to amusement and... was that wistfulness? Rin was not sure.

"You _do_ remind me of him," the Servant whistled, earning him another bemused glance from his supposed master. He closed the distance between them, completely ignoring the fright that slowly appeared behind the young woman's eyes, and then stopped at arm's length. Those golden eyes bore on her, evaluating his supposed master as if the Servant was trying to find flaws that may deter him from accepting her offer.

"Well then, _Master_ ,"  he drawled, Rin flinching at how he used that word.. so filled with tease and _derision_ at the same time, and extended his hand to offer a handshake. "Since I will be entrusting my interest to you, I suppose it will be easier for you to know my name."

* * *

_"My name is Mikoto Suoh, the Red King. I am summoned under the Berserker class."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I am aware that a magus must recite additional mad enhancement verse during the summoning in order to gain Berserker-class servant, this method is only used especially to summon Berserker. Meaning, if there is no Berserker-class Servant at the time of summoning, the magus has as much chance of gaining Berserker as other available classes. 
> 
> Of course, this is just creative liberty, nothing canon, haha.
> 
> It is hard for me to picture Suoh in class other than Berserker. The other classes require a signifying weapon/legend/skill that Suoh certainly doesn't have (e.g. Heroic Spirit EMIYA with his bow skill, even his was not polished; Arturia and her Excalibur; Gilgamesh and his over-the-top independence; etc). While Berserker does have Mad Enhancement skill, Suoh's might as well rank as low as E-, much like [Elizabeth Bathory's](http://typemoon.wikia.com/wiki/Encyclopedia/Fate/Extra_CCC#Berserker).
> 
> Don't forget, he _did_ go berserk when Tatara died. ~(˘▾˘~)


	5. Wenn die Dritte Chance Kommt [EMIYA]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me Saber," he started, his hands tracing Kanshou and Bakuya out of thin air, "do you regret it?"
> 
> ( _Do you regret handing yourself to the world? Do you weep for trading your freedom for a chance to realize your wish? Do you take this situation as a mistake?_ )
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Wenn die Dritte Chance Kommt** \- When the Third Chance Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was quick.
> 
> If Rin summoned Berserker, then who summoned Archer?
> 
> (Beta'ed to the best of my ability...)

_I ask of you, are you my master?_

Those words would haunt him for the rest of his life. They were the very spark that led him to a life of servitude for the greater good—a life that he thought would satisfy him, make the world better to his selfish standard. Had he known back then that his ideal would lead him to lose everything he held dear, he would not have chosen that path: blindly following his idealism as it led him to the gallows.

(Much later, it eventually led him to his slavery, under the cruelest master: humanity's will to survive itself.)

Thus, the irony of uttering those words when he came to the sight of that innocent face ( _broken, the owner's heart ripped out at the behest of one golden servant, so dead_ ) seeped into his bone a little too much—

—but Archer gulped down his dread and guilt, his face maintaining a facade of control.

"Tell me," he spoke, his voice clearly attracting the person that was Ilyasviel von Einzbern, "Are you worthy to be my master?"

(Somewhere in his heart, a part that remained untainted with emptiness and the mission, Shiro Emiya wept with joy and vowed to protect the sister-she-could-be to best of his ability. The fact that he was summoned by Ilya at all—not by Rin—was a sign that this war might turn out different than what he had gone through.)

There was the barest hint of displeasure crossing his supposed master's face, though she expertly covered it with a saccharine-but-confident smile. The markings of command seal glowed all over her body as she gloated her dominion over his destiny, "Ridiculous, this command seal is proof of my strength. But tell me, Archer, are you worthy to be _my_  Servant?"

He could feel her enormous mana pouring into him, filling him to the brim until it overflowed. She had always been so powerful... but tasting her power firsthand was an experience like no other. Archer released his breath and genuflected before his master, his words reverent, "I shall strive to be."

* * *

The King of Knights did not participate in this alternate war.

In her place was a glass-wearing man in modern attire who wielded his saber with a grace not befitting to heroes of old. The very fact that he wore glasses at all was a sign that he was of this age. The fact posed a contradiction that may lead to a conclusion which he was not comfortable with.

There could be no one in this age to possess the reverence (or abhorrence) so great that it elevated one's status to heroism/villainy worthy of the Throne of Heroes. He checked that; being a Counter Guardian granted him some Root knowledge privy to the World's servants. Meaning... the servant before him, warily shielding his master from Archer...

"Tell me Saber," he started, his hands tracing _Kanshou_ and _Bakuya_ out of thin air, "do you regret it?"

( _Do you regret handing yourself to the world? Do you weep for trading your freedom for a chance to realize your wish? Do you take this situation as a mistake?_ )

A passing moment, a bewildered expression.

Archer took his stance and launched at the blue-clad servant. Their blades clashed, red and blue wisps of prana sparking as they exchanged blows

He might have put his personal frustration unto his consequent blow, so much that both of his swords shattered at the force of his blow. Archer paid no time to project another pair and then charged again, keeping blue-haired Saber on his toe. His saber trembled as Saber held Archer's force at bay, though the Servant's violet eyes only revealed determination and discontent.

Then, the air shifted.

It took only a second for Archer to step back, avoiding the blue flames (no, it was something else... something akin to _light_ ) that emitted from Saber like an eternal fire. He quickly scrambled before his master, noticing how tense Ilya had become from that simple change. Saber's prana kept on rising, not showing any signs of stopping in the next moments.

It was like witnessing Excalibur before its launch.

"If it is to save him, Archer, I will pay any price," Saber started, the depth of Archer's question quietly seeping into recognition as he drew his blade to point at his enemy, "Now, begone."

There was a flash of blue over red—the multiple beams of blue light hitting hastily-drawn _Rho Aias—_ and Archer remembered no more.

(The air tasted like fire; he was sure that red did not come only from the red shield, but from something else altogether.)

* * *

_Wake up, please... you can't leave me!_

There was a command weighed in those words, compelling him to snap out of his emptiness and just... _be_. It forced him to materialize and answer to his master. Before he knew what was up and down, Archer was standing before Ilya's worried presence, her whole body glowing with the marks of her command seal. The first thing he noticed, aside from the tears streaming down his master's eyes, was how the marks on her limbs have faded away.

It came to him that she had used a command seal to rouse him.

"Stupid Archer and your independence, I told you not to pursue him!" Ilya scolded, "had it not been for Berserker's intervention, you could have _died_! What am I going to do with the war if I lose you?!"

For all her outbursts, Archer can read between her lines: she was not talking about the war, but rather how her previous life ( _the empty castle, the loneliness, the fate meant for the homunculus which harbored the means to reach the wish-granting device_ ) would come back and stalk her, until she met her supposed end. The girl was supposed to fight for the Einzbern but found a wish for herself... a wish to live like a normal person.

Archer wanted to grant her wish: to fix a mistake he could not mend in his previous life.

(All she had ever wanted was normalcy... something that he'd been granting since he was living with her, witnessing how that cold exterior changing back-and-forth into the guise of childhood—a guise she wore when she was still with her happy family: a loving mother, a thoughtful father—

—a life when he was a normal kid, long before Kiritsugu Emiya changed his destiny forever.)

"I'm sorry, Mas—" he paused, took a deep breath (too fulfilling, too _relieving_ ), "—Ilya, for abandoning your order."

Her discontent did not seem to abate as she launched herself towards him, her small frame too light even as she tried to knock him down. Archer took the feeble blow, eventually leaning to embrace his master. That was when she noticed the all-too-familiar presence of the red-clad mage, sitting haughtily on a couch across the room as if she was the queen of the castle. Right behind her stood a man with wild red hair, his eyes looking apathetic... as if every person in the room did not interest him.

It was like looking at the imitation of the King of Heroes. _A Servant_ , _then._

"Right," Rin Tohsaka's rich voice beckoned him to listen ( _how he had grown on her voice, her companionship, her trust; how he missed them so much that it hurt to be by her side_ ) and her servant's glance of curiosity prickled his self-preservation ( _he could feel the raw strength coming from this servant, just as dangerous as the one from Saber_ ), "we would like to propose an alliance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next should be Emiya :")b
> 
> If you're wondering why EMIYA is soft-hearted not-hellbent to kill Shirou as well, it's because this EMIYA has experienced the original fifth holy grail war (UBW path). In a way, he despaired over his summoning, knowing that his attempt to kill his young self would not change his destiny anyway.
> 
> That and the days he spent to care for Ilya softened his heart. ...In a way, he's seeking for atonement.
> 
> If you're wondering why Ilya is not that sadistic girl who wants to kill Shirou so badly, it's because I have been reading Fate/kaleid a little bit too much.


End file.
